


Skyscaper Jones

by distant_rose



Series: Little Pirates [5]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Asshole Substitute Teachers, F/M, Future Fic, Gen, Harrison Jones is a big puppy, In which Snow is savage and I love it, Missing Children, Protective Parents, a big quiet puppy dog of a kid, swan jones family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 21:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10999539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distant_rose/pseuds/distant_rose
Summary: Harrison Jones is a big kid. Five inches and fifteen pounds heavier than the other kids in Ms. Zellar’s second grade class. He’s a bit hard to miss, which is why Emma Swan can’t understand why she’s getting a phone call in the middle of day from Storybrooke Elementary informing her that her son is missing.





	Skyscaper Jones

**Author's Note:**

> I thank her on every single one of these and I always will because this verse wouldn’t exist without her - @welpthisishappening. (She’s perfect so if you don’t read her fic, you’re really missing out!) Anyway, I know that everyone loves Wes/is waiting for something Wes centric, but Harrison is my puppy dog and he’s slightly based upon my ridiculous younger brother who is giant. (I call him Moose.) Anyway, this one-shot is based upon the actual events involving my younger brother who everyone seemed to think was in the fifth grade instead of second grade on our first day at a new elementary school. Questions, comments and all around concerns, chat with me on tumblr at distant-rose.tumblr.com

Harrison Liam Jones is a big kid.

He was a big baby too and that’s something Emma Swan won’t ever forget because pushing out eleven pounds and two ounces of a human being is something that deserves a mention in the Guinness Book of World Records. (Henry likes to inform her that bigger babies have been born around fifteen and sixteen pounds and she cannot help but wince. She cannot imagine pushing out something bigger than Harrison, who nearly ripped her apart and broke his collarbone on the way out.) She remembers turning to her husband not long after Harrison was taken away by the attendants and telling him if he wanted another kid, he was going to have to carry it himself because there’s no way she’s going through childbirth again. (Six months later, of course, she makes a liar out of herself when whispers in his ear to tell him she wants another. Wes is born not long after that and Beth less than two years after him. Thankfully neither kid is as big as their brother when they’re born. Wes is a respectful seven pounds and nine ounces. Beth is their tiny girl; born four pounds and eleven ounces.)

They aren’t quite sure where Harrison’s stature comes from. It’s not that Killian is particularly short, but he’s not the six feet and four inches that their pediatrician estimates their boy will be. David is tall and broad, but he’s not gigantic enough to explain why their son will be towering over them before long. All and all, they chalk it as a medical and genetic mystery, and just accept that Harrison is going to be a very big boy.

David loves it and often heckles Emma to sign him up for pee-wee football despite the fact that he’s only seven, a year or two too young to even be on the team. He’s a proud grandfather and sees so much athletic potential in Harrison who is taller than Neal now, despite the fact Neal is a good year and some months older than him.

“He’s bigger than half the fourth graders and he would be on the same team as Neal!” Her father argues, looking at her like she’s insane for saying ‘no.’

“He’s not old enough!” Emma huffs, glaring at him with her hands on her hips. This is an argument they’re had too many times. “Besides, I don’t want him getting hurt.”

“Hurt? Your son is a bear cub compared to those kids. If anyone is going to get hurt, it’s the poor quarterback who stands no chance against a kid his size. Come on, Emma, you have a baby Brian Urlacher on your hands. If Hook knew anything about football he would agree with me!”

Emma cannot help but snort. Everyone is so caught up on the size of the boy that it seems that they cannot look past it and realize that her kid isn’t just big in size, he has a big soft heart as well. Harrison is a sweet boy who wouldn’t want to hurt a fly let alone tackle another kid. He’s incredibly gentle with his younger siblings, often guiding them around and picking them up when they fall over. He’s more likely to help a kid up after being tackled than doing the tackling himself. (Her other little kiddos are different story entirely. At five, she can already tell Wes has a bit of a mean streak as well as a wily cunning that goes beyond his years while three-year-old Beth doesn’t care about anything except getting her way.) No, Harrison Jones is very much a lover, not a fighter; no matter how much of a big kid he was.

“Dad, Harrison isn’t old enough. I don’t care how big he is. We’re not signing him up for football. At least not until next year.”

“Fine! But no one would ever know! It’s not like he looks seven!”

He’s right. At seven-years-old, Harrison is four-foot, five inches and sixty-five pounds, which is five inches taller and fifteen pounds heavier than the average demographic for his age. Emma figured that this wouldn’t be a problem as long as he was a healthy and able-bodied boy until it was…

Because David was right; Harrison did not look like a seven-year-old.

Killian and Emma are finishing a follow up on a break-in at the pharmacy when Emma’s phone rings and the caller ID reveals that it’s the elementary school calling her…again. They share an exasperated look as she reaches to answer it.

“Wes?” Killian predicts with a sigh. Their youngest son has been causing some trouble in his kindergarten class. His sticky fingers are a little too sticky with his classmates’ belongings. It’s become an issue that they’re sorely hoping to nip in the butt. Everyone seems to believe Wes is emulating Killian with his thieving skills, but Emma privately sees herself in the boy; her own thieving days seem to be forgotten by all but her.

“Probably,” Emma sighs before pulling up her phone. “Hello. This is Sheriff Swan.”

“Hello…Sheriff Swan…its Principal Pratt from Storybrooke Elementary…” The principal’s voice sounds more hesitant than annoyed, and something about that makes the hair on Emma’s arm raise.

“I know, Marie, you’ve called at least once a week. What did Wes do this time?” Emma asks with a sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She doesn’t even bother calling the woman by her title anymore. They talk enough to be on a first name basis, regardless of any sense of propriety that the principal has.

“It’s not Wes I’m calling about, Sheriff. It’s Harrison. He’s missing.”

Emma Swan and fear are good old friends. After living in Storybrooke for some long, it’s almost an expected part of her day to feel adrenaline kicks, shivers down her spine and to choke down all feelings of panic to launch herself into action in order to save everyone else. What she’s feeling isn’t normal fear; it’s hysteria. She’s not facing down some nameless monster. This is her kid in trouble, her kid in danger, her kid that is missing. Every part of her is screaming and it feels like a blaring red alarm is going off in her head. She’s lived through the Final Battle and honestly, she can say, this feels worse than that.

She doesn’t stand around waiting for the school to update her. She can’t. She’s the Savior and she’s a woman of action. She and her husband march into the school, war faces at the ready. They stride into Principal Pratt’s office, ignoring the squawking secretaries and administrative staff that tries to stop them. They don’t do more than yell at them to stop however. She’s the Savior and Killian is in full Hook mode, looking positively murderous. They couldn’t have stopped them if they tried.

Principal Pratt and the young woman, who Emma recognizes as Harrison’s teacher Ms. Zellar, jump as they jar open the door to Pratt’s office. Emma also wishes she had a sword so she could jab it into the desk and let Principal Pratt know exactly how angry she is.

“Where is my son?” Emma hisses as she strides over and slams her hands against the desk.

Killian settles himself against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest with the hook on display. He’s letting her handle this…for now. He’s just as upset as she is at the moment, but he’s stewing. This joke of a school administration needs to figure its shit before Killian goes off, full on Captain Hook on them. Emma would let him. Gladly.

Ms. Zellar, whose eyes were red and cheeks blotchy, starts to cry. Her entire body shakes and Principal Pratt looks helplessly between the teacher and Emma.

“I don’t know!” Ms. Zellar wails. “He went out to recess with the rest of the kids and he didn’t come back in with them! We haven’t been able to find him since!”

“My son is the biggest kid in your class! He’s like the Empire State Building compared to the rest of them! You don’t just lose the Empire State Building!” Emma replies, her voice is so loud that it could be considered yelling. It’s not yelling though. Not yet. She’s just warming up.

“With all due respect, Sheriff Swan, all the grades recess together. So Harrison isn’t as noticeable as the Empire State Building. We do have grades kindergarten through fifth grade playing outside together after all,” Principal Pratt replies, placing a hand on Ms. Zellar’s shoulder. “It’s entirely possible that Harrison could have run off without any of the staff noticing.”

“Harrison run off…” Emma repeats. The words are distasteful on her tongue. “Bullshit, Marie. Harrison has never caused any issues in his time at this school. Wes run off? I would believe that in a heartbeat because none of you seem to be able to manage my five year old. Harrison? Never.”

Emma wants to say more, but she hears Killian shift behind her and she can see the facial expressions of the two women change as he approaches. She tilts her head to the side to look at him. Killian is stalking towards the desk and though there’s a small smile on his face, there’s no joy in it. It’s a dangerous smile and it reminds her of a time long ago when he was the Dark One.

“So, correct me if I’m wrong, ladies, but from what I’m hearing, the policy of this school to bring every single child outside during a period of the day when you do not have enough adults supervising them to ensure their safety and make sure they aren’t capable of running off? In Storybrooke nonetheless where we are favored with a monster of the week?” Killian asks in a soft voice that makes a chill even run up Emma’s spine. She’s not sure these women realize exactly how angry her husband is at the moment and that they should be considering their words carefully.

“It’s been our policy as long as I can remember, Cap-Mr. Jones. The children prefer it because some of them have kids in other grades. Your own children included.”

“You know that my sons have friends in other grades, but not where my eldest is? You need to work on priorities in regards to your observation skills,” Killian responds, standing next to Emma. She grabs his hand and gives it a squeeze in solidarity.

Principal Pratt’s face colors at the comment and she opens her mouth to respond, but the door opens again and this time, it’s Mary Margaret who strides in. She looks almost as murderous as Emma and Killian, her face flushed with anger. She couldn’t have looked more threatening even if she had her bow.

“Where is my grandson?” She asks, wedging herself between Emma and Killian and placing her hands on both of their shoulders. Principal Pratt looks at a lost with how to deal with an angry Snow White, Captain Hook and Savior. Ms. Zellar looks like she wants to faint.

“Shouldn’t you be teaching fourth grade, Mrs. Nolan?” Principal Pratt responds.

“Jim is looking in on them,” Mary Margaret replies. “I know how to responsibly take care of my students unlike some teachers. Now answer the question. Where is my grandson?”

“We’re looking for him, Mary Margaret, I promise,” Principal Pratt responds, looking very haggard at having to deal with all three of them. “We’ve got Mike, Isodora, James and Ava all looking for him.”

“And yet, you’re both in here,” Mary Margaret responds. “A child is missing and you’re in your office, doing nothing. This time could be better spent looking for Harrison.”

Emma’s heart warms a bit at the conviction and accusation in her mother’s voice. Her mother is risking her career at the moment by talking this way to her boss, but Emma loves her more for it. Their family is more important to her mother than her job. If she wasn’t so keyed up about Harrison being missing, she would have hugged her.

Principal Pratt looks dumbfounded that Mary Margaret is speaking to her in such a way. Her mouth opens and closes a few times without actually uttering anything. Ms. Zellar’s face, which was red before, is now closer to a shade of purple and she keeps her eyes trained on the floor as if she wanted it to swallow her up.

“I…I…” Principal Pratt is lost for words. “You’re right. We should help look for the boy.”

“Not the boy,” Killian hisses. “Harrison. He’s not the boy. He’s not any boy. He’s my son and you will remember that.”

Principal Pratt’s face goes white at Killian’s tone and Emma squeezes his hand, debating to herself whether she could tell him to dial it down a notch or kiss him for being so fiercely protective of their son. Mary Margaret gives him a look of approval and nods in agreement. All five of them are about to walk out the door when there is a commotion outside the office. All the secretaries are buzzing about something. Emma and Mary Margaret exchange a look while Killian pushes open a door.

A young man no older than twenty-seven is in engaged with an angry verbal spar with one of the secretaries. Not only is he angrily spitting at the harassed looking women, but he is also holding up Emma and Killian’s son Harrison by his ear and it’s obvious by the redness of the appendage and the tears in Harrison’s eyes that the man had dragged him into the office by it.

“I need to talk to Principal Pratt about this punk right now! This kid thinks he’s funny! Trying to play off like he’s a second grader! The dumbest ploy I’ve heard to get out of a test! He needs to learn a lesson! You can’t pull this kind of stunt on a substitute teacher!” The man shouts at the secretary.

Mary Margaret lets out a horrified sound. The secretaries, the man and Harrison, turn to see the five out of them standing outside of Pratt’s office.

“Mom!” Harrison shouts and yanks himself free of the man’s grasp, flinching as he did so. He runs towards Emma at full speed and Emma gathers her big little boy in her arms, tugging him as close as she can. He’s honestly too big at held at this point but Emma doesn’t care. Relief is a palpable thing and Emma feels like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. Harrison is safe.

Killian darts past her at a speed that Emma hadn’t realized that he was capable of until that moment. The young man’s eyes bulge in alarm as Killian approaches, taking a step back in hopes of getting away from him. Killian isn’t deterred, he lifts the man up by his hook and slams the man against the wall. The administration gasps. Principal Pratt moves forward to intervene, but Mary Margaret places an arm in front of her to stop her from interfering.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Killian snarls, barring his teeth like some feral creature. The muscles in his jaw and neck twitch under the strain of his rage. “And what makes you think it’s okay to manhandle MY SON!?”

“You okay, Kid?” Emma asks Harrison in a murmur, gently running her hand over his back in a smoothing motion. Her arms ache from holding him up, but he deserves to be held and after the sheer terror she felt while he was missing, she’s reluctant to let him go. She frowns at the redness of his ear. It looks like it hurts like hell. They might have to stop at the nurse’s office for an ice pack.

“He didn’t believe me, Mom,” Harrison whispers. “He didn’t believe I was in Ms. Zellar’s class.”

“The kid was trying to get out of a test and thought he could pull a fast one on me,” the man wheezes out.

Emma’s certain if she wasn’t so focused on her son at the moment, she would have hit the guy over the head because he just doesn’t know her kid. Harrison, without question, is the easiest of her children to handle aside from Henry who is now grown and in college. Wes is the one who would pull a fast one on a teacher. Beth, once she finally is old enough, will probably try to pull fast ones too. She does a marvelous job hoodwinking Killian as is. Harrison is the one most likely to rat someone out because, despite his age, he has an extreme sense of justice to him that makes his grandfather proud.

“And that gives you an excuse to manhandle a child?” Mary Margaret demands. Despite the fact she’s wearing frilly pastels, she looks positively terrifying like she’s ready to pull out her bow and use the man for target practice.

“Mr. Jones could you kindly put Mr. Abad down so we can get to the bottom of this business?” Principal Pratt asks in a tired tone. She sounds like she’s in desperate need of a drink. Emma doesn’t blame her. She wants one too.

Killian acquiesces to her demands, reluctantly pulling away from Mr. Abad, but not without ripping the collar of his shirt. Young Mr. Abad looks torn between indignation and terror as he regards Killian with a wary eye. Killian continues to glower at him, looking like he would delight in nothing more than ripping the man to shreds for touching their son. If Harrison wasn’t clinging so hard to Emma, she’s sure she might have slung at the man.

“You have the floor for the moment, Mr. Abad,” Principal Pratt says with another sigh. “I suggest you explain yourself and your actions before Mr. Jones, Mrs. Nolan and Sheriff Swan get impatient with you.”

“Well,” Mr. Abad starts, licking his lip as his eyes dart back and forth between Emma, Killian, Mary Margaret and Principal Pratt. His pupils remind Emma of a pinball machine with how fast they move. “I caught this kid-“

“Harrison,” Mary Margaret interrupts, crossing her arms in front of her chest and glowering at him. “Not this kid. Harrison. We know our students’ names at this school. Did you even ask?”

“No, but-”Mary Margaret doesn’t let him finish again.

“You didn’t ask? You brought him to the principal’s office but you didn’t bother to learn his name? Do you even know any of your students? Did you even do roll call? Attendance? Because if you did, you might have learned Harrison doesn’t belong in fifth grade and you would have saved everyone here an hour of panic!”

“Well, I didn’t know if he was lying to me or if any of the other punks were! I mean the kid said he was in the second grade for Pete’s sake! He tried as far as to go in through the second grade doors when he came back from recess. That’s ridiculous!”

“Mr. Abad,” Ms. Zellar speaks for the first time. Her face is still red, but Emma is now certain it’s from anger now instead of embarrassment. “Harrison is one of my students. He is the second grade and I’ve been frantic for the last hour because you took one of my students without even consulting anyone!”

“I didn’t think I needed to consult anyone on taking a fifth grade student! The kid doesn’t look like a second grader! If that kid is a second grader, then he’s the mammoth of all second graders! The beanstalk of the second grade!”

“We prefer to call him the Empire State Building of the second grade. Skyscraper Jones when we’re being clever, thank you very much,” Emma replies, glaring at him and giving her son, the aforementioned Empire State Building of the second grade, a kiss on the forehead. Harrison cuddles his face into her neck like he does at home when they’re watching a movie and he’s getting second-hand embarrassment from a particularly dumb scene. Typical of her sweet boy. Wes, Beth and even Henry would be straight up angry and kicking up a storm of indignation to be in this situation, but Harrison? He’s just embarrassed.

“How are you even a teacher?” Mary Margaret says, still going for the kill. “You don’t take attendance. You don’t know who are your students and who aren’t. Oh! You call the students “little punks” and you manhandled my grandson in front of the entire administration staff. Seriously, how did you get a teaching license?”

“Yeah, this is a public school. If you want to pull that kind of stuff, go to a private Catholic school. You’ll fit right in,” Emma replies because she can’t help herself. Mr. Abad is a young teacher (soon to ex-teacher) but he reminds her of all the nuns she dealt with when she was put in Catholic school by the Smiths in Montana.

Mr. Abad seems to sense that he’s in a world of trouble at the moment and makes the intelligent decision not to reply to Mary Margaret or Emma. He does however keep his eyes trained on Killian’s hook as if he is just waiting for it to gut him. Killian, of course, who notices the look, offers him a smirk and continues to look at him with murder in his eyes.

“Mr. Abad, I think it’s time for us to discuss your future as a substitute for Mrs. Decker’s class and that you give Ms. Zellar an apology for this…situation,” Principal Pratt says finally, gesturing for Mr. Abad to join her in her office. Mr. Abad’s face blanches, but he enters the office quickly as if trying to get away from Emma, Mary Margaret and Killian as fast as possible. Smart man.

“You will receive a formal apology from the school in the mail and acknowledgement of Mr. Abad’s termination in regard to this incident,” Principal Pratt says in a weary tone as she regards Emma with a tired look. “I’m sorry for this situation.”

“If it’s all the same to you, we’re going to take Harrison home for the rest of the day,” Emma replies, silently challenging the woman to protest the course of action.

“Of course,” she replies, obviously not willing to argue with Emma. “He’s had a trying day.”

“What do you say, bud? You, me and Dad get ice cream at Granny’s?” Emma says to her son, meeting Killian’s eyes over Harrison’s dark hair as she always says when she calls him ‘Dad.’ They have a seven-year-old, a five-year-old, a three-year-old and he arguably helped raise her college sophomore, but it still brings out an unnamable emotion when she calls him that.

“Yeah…I would like that,” Harrison replies, voice still muffled by Emma’s neck.

Killian, who still looks pissed off about the whole fiasco, softens a bit. It’s as if the reminder that he’s father pacifies the rage beast that was dying to be set loose today. He steps forward and takes Harrison from Emma’s arms, hefting their son over his head so Harrison is sitting on his shoulders. It’s a picture that it is both absurd and impossibly adorable since Harrison strongly resembles his father despite his stature; their facial structure near identical, the only key differences being Harrison’s green eyes, chubby child cheeks and more pointed chin. Emma smiles and shakes her head, mainly because Harrison is far too big now to be receiving rides on his father’s shoulders. Killian is relatively strong, especially for a man with one hand, but she knows he’s going to be sore as well later.

“I will see you later at Granny’s?” Mary Margaret asks with a smile. All evidence of her previous ire is erased by a picture of pleasantness. Emma doesn’t know how her mother pulls it off.

“Sure,” Emma replies, chuckling as she watches Killian squat down so he can both himself and Harrison through the doorway. If he drops their son, he’s sleeping on the couch for a week. “We’ll see you there. Hopefully without another mashed potato incident.”

Mary Margaret laughs.

“Yes, extra eyes on the boys is always necessary,” she says with a smile. “But let’s worry about that later. Go enjoy your ice cream. Give Harrison some extra sprinkles courtesy of Grandma.”

“Done,” Emma replies, following her husband and her son out the door.

Harrison ends up getting only extra sprinkles, but hot fudge, whipped cream and a cherry on top of the mountain size portion of vanilla ice cream. Granny defends the decision by stating that big boys need big portions.


End file.
